It's the End of the World as we know it
by loozy
Summary: In an apokalyptic universe, how will the CSI's fare? NG, WC, AU


**It's the end of the world as we know it**

I'm tired of being what you want me to be  
Feeling so faithless lost under the surface  
Don't know what you're expecting of me  
Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes  
(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)  
Every step that I take is another mistake to you  
(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)

_Chorus_  
I've become so numb I can't feel you there  
I've become so tired so much more aware  
I'm becoming this all I want to do  
Is be more like me and be less like you

Can't you see that you're smothering me  
Holding too tightly afraid to lose control  
Cause everything that you thought I would be  
Has fallen apart right in front of you  
(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)  
Every step that I take is another mistake to you  
(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)  
And every second I waste is more than I can take

_Chorus_  
I've become so numb I can't feel you there  
I've become so tired so much more aware  
I'm becoming this all I want to do  
Is be more like me and be less like you

And I know  
I may end up failing too  
But I know  
You were just like me with someone disappointed in you

_Chorus_  
I've become so numb I can't feel you there  
I've become so tired so much more aware  
I'm becoming this all I want to do  
Is be more like me and be less like you

_Chorus_  
I've become so numb I can't feel you there  
I'm tired of being what you want me to be  
I've become so numb I can't feel you there  
I'm tired of being what you want me to be

(_Numb- Linkin Park_)

When he comes back, it's so dark in the room that he can see nothing. But he's used to it by now, knows his way around. In the beginning they all had to use the night vision goggles but they need to preserve them for really important matters, so they are stashed away safely where the Troopers or anyone else can't find them during one of their razzias, but one can never be too sure of anything these days.

"Nick?"

He almost nods, forgetting that the gesture can't be seen in the darkness.

"Yeah."

He follows the sound of Catherine's voice. It carries him into the far right corner. Their corner.

"How is he?"

"The fever finally broke around sunset."

"I got medicine."

She tries to suppress the excitement in her voice. Tries and fails.

"Really? What kind?"  
"Aspirin, the good kind. Ibuprofen. Band aids. Advil. Tylenol. Bandages. Cough drops. Ointments against burns and infection. Name it and I got it."

"Where?"

"We treked to some outskirt today. Found out about a pharmacy raid by accident."

"Where are the others?"

"Got held up."

"How? What happened?"

"There was a raid of a supply storage. I had all the medical stuff with me and also- this."

With a flourish he pulls out a cardboard box. Catherine lights a candle, sees what is in the box and smiles.

"Lighters."

"And…"

"Gas. Oh my God. Nicky."

"Was the last one. I think I broke a guy's hand trying to get it."

She only shrugs.

"Look at what they did to you. It's war, everything's allowed, basically."

He knows this, understands it. Doesn't mean he has to like it, though.

"Where's Linds?"

"Sleeping. Finally went down about an hour ago."

"Did she sleep any last night?"  
"She had a few nightmares. But I could wake her before it got too bad. You?"

"Napping."

She takes his pullover off, and his shoes as he sinks down on the mattress, too exhausted to do it himself, settling them on the suitcase that cases his belongings. He feels her eyes on him.

"I got some water from the drain pan. You wanna wash?"

"God, yes."

He makes a move to get up, but her hand on his chest pushes him back.

"Stay. I'll bring it."

"Cath-"

"Nicky."

He relents.

When Catherine's determined, it's better to let her have her will, especially when the last thing he wants to do is move away from the warm body at his side that finally isn't as hot as it was for the last week. He turns over, wincing slightly as the slashing scar on his right ribcage pulls. Greg's forehead isn't sweaty anymore, not does he radiate immense heat. Nick carefully strokes his bruised cheek, a sickly purple now that makes him so angry he wants to hit something. A wall. Or the face of the man who did this. The sad thing is, he knows that it's not the only bruise on Greg's body or face, it's one of a too many that have no reason to be there at all.

"He breathes easier."

"Yeah, the rib brace helps. I cleaned his wounds two hours ago, so he is okay for the night."

She's back with a small water basin, a wash cloth, a glass of water and a plate.

"Thanks."

"How was it today?"

It feels good to wash away the grime of the day, the dirt of the streets, but he knows that there is some filth that can't be washed away, no matter how hard he tries.

"The usual. There've been worse days. But there've also been better. I think the rain made a lot of them stay in."

"Maybe they'll get enough so that no- one's got to go out tomorrow."

They, that is Warrick, Grissom, Brass and Sofia. They are the ones from the lab that are either alive or haven't been taken over by the Dark Force, as Greg jokingly called it, but is true nonetheless. Every day they go out, trying to score food, essentials and rare goods, as are thousand others like them. Some days they are more successful and on other days they bring home barely enough food for two. It's difficult for them, the Scum, as they are called now. It used to be all of them to go out except for one who would stay with Lindsey and protect their place. Now it's Greg and Lindsey who have to stay in and one more person to be there in case they need protection, something they are unable to provide as of now on their own. They used to rotate but with Greg's condition getting worse and Catherine having the most caring attitude and knowledge about how to treat high fever and such, she was the one to stay in. But now Greg is better, and Nick just hopes that it will be his turn to stay _home_ the next day, something that he hasn't been able to do in a long time.

What they call _home_ theses days are two rooms, one for living, eating, sleeping and the other that's functioning as a toilet. The windows have no glass anymore and at night they have cardboard to block out the noise and lights from the street. Curtains hanging around their sleeping corners protect their privacy.

Catherine, Warrick and Lindsey.

Brass and Grissom.

Sofia.

Nick and Greg.

He stretches his legs as he lies down, too tired to eat. Catherine just places the plate by his side, then goes up to leave, losing the string that held the curtain in place and goes over to her corner. He hears her soft footsteps padding and shivers. It's cooling down as the days become shorter and the nights longer and survival a bit more difficult.

Greg shifts in his sleep, turning towards him. He slips his arm around his hips, noting with concern that the sickness took away some pounds off an already narrow body. He's lost weight, too, they all have, but with Greg it's more noticeable because of his slighter build.

Nestling them both under the covers, he places a light kiss on Greg's forehead and succumbs to sleep.

Loud banging wakes him up.

He hears the scuffle of feet and begins to move, too.

The blanket is tucked around Greg's body.

The two suitcases are open for inspection, clothe neatly folded and in place.

The curtains are rolled up so that there is nothing to be hidden from view.

The fireplace in the room's middle illuminates an eerie scene, as the door flies open and Troopers march in, guns drawn. They don't need to say anything, as they know the drill all too well by now, but they do it anyways, because where's the fun in being silent?

Nick is deaf to their voices by now and knows that the others are, too. The voices are too cruel, the words too harsh and neither of them could still have any hope left if they listened to what is being said. Questions are yelled and they answer, monotonous, no trace of feelings left.

They're the robots the government wants them to be. Actually, the government would prefer them dead, but is of the opinion that _Völkermord_ is something the Nazis did during the Third Reich and also believe that it is more fun to despair them enough that they commit suicide.

The razzias are only one of thousands of harassment that they have to put up with.

The harsh beam of a stab light meets his eyes and he blinks irritated. The Trooper is yelling, as usual, and as the beam moves over to Greg's sleeping form, Nick tunes his hearing back in.

"What's with him?"

"He's sick, sir."

"What?"

"He's sick, sir."

"Heard you the first time 'round."

Nick doesn't say anything. Hadn't he answered, the trooper would've yelled, and obviously answering results in just the same.

"Get him up!"

"Sir, I don't think that's-"

"Get him up!"

"But-"

"I said get him up! Are you deaf or something?"

"No, sir, but-"

The fist's impact on his face blinds him and he stumbles, just about his keeping his balance. Then the stab lights connects hard with his stomach and a knee settles in his groin.

"Faggot!"

He sinks down on his knees in slow motion, holding his hands down on his groin, tears of pain shooting in his eyes. Vaguely he feels rough hands grabbing his arms and securing them behind his back. With his face pressed into the hard floor he can see the Trooper's foot coming to meet his ribs, just as he sees two other Troopers pulling away the blanket from Greg's form. When he can open his eyes again, Greg's naked and one of the Troopers is fooling around. The pain is taken away by the sudden rush of adrenaline that takes hold of his body and he fights the hands holding him.

"He's unconscious anyways, he won't feel the difference between your cock and mine."

He continues to fight, only to be kicked in the back, pressed face- down on the hardwood floor. A blow to the head, handcuffs around his wrists and then the feeling of someone pulling down his pants and boxer briefs while the one kneeling on his back holds him in place. He presses his face down even harder, as though he can vanish in the wood, not wanting to see the others watching what is being done to him and Greg.

Then he shuts down his mind and attempt to separate his mind from his body.

When it is over, he doesn't move.

He can't.

The fear of being shattered leaves him paralysed. Logically he knows that the danger is gone, but his mind is not convinced as of yet. He feels Catherine's hands on him, pulling his boxer briefs back up, and then lifting him and dragging him over to their place with Warrick's help. Her face is tear- streaked, his a combination of hurt and concern. And rage. A rage that Nick has seldom seen before and never in his friend's eyes. His mind is numb and he feels as though he has lost the ability to think, but then Catherine's soft voice breaks through the veil of nothingness that has enveloped his body.

"You need anything."

Yeah, a bit tub of hot water and bubbles that cover every inch of him. That is what he needs.

"No."

He also needs Greg by his side. Healthy, happy Greg that can make him laugh and that is not sick anymore.

"Grissom got some juice."

"No."

She senses the dismissal in his curt voice.

"Is it okay to leave you alone?"

He nods. As she is about to turn and leave, he remembers something.

"Cath?"

"Yeah?"

"Lindsey see anything?"

"I shielded her eyes. Got an idea, though."

Sad sigh from both of them.

"She worried. Wants to come over and see for herself that you are okay. That both of you are okay."

He's not up to company right now.

"Can we do that tomorrow?"

"I expected as much."

He feels her lips on his forehead and hears her do the same to Greg.

Then, a barely audible whisper as she leaves and draws the curtains.

"He's awake."

For the first time in two weeks, Greg's eyes are clear of the fever that had coated them. But Nick can't feel any elation at that. Tears are streaming down Greg's face, reflecting the agony he feels and is unable to voice. His own tears are rising and Nick swallows a heavy sob as he leans over to touch Greg's face lovingly, peppering it with tiny whisper- like kisses. The other man leans into the caress, a badly- shaking hand searching out Nick's, and upon finding it, gripping it fiercely. No words are needed as the two move as close to each other as possible, Nick drawing the comforter over them once again and they seek solace in each other and in sleep.

The night is too short.

As they sit around the fire place, they decide that Warrick should stay at home with Lindsey, Greg and Nick. At first Nick tries to fight the decision, responsibility winning out over his desire to stay in, but then gives in.

"Greg needs you. And you need Greg."

"Do you really think you are up to facing a Trooper today?"

"We had a good run yesterday. It's really not necessary for all of us to go out. It wouldn't hurt if one more would stay in, too. Two are enough for today."

"The only reason I'm going out is because I've been stuck in this place since Greg's fever hit the roof. But he's better now."

"You've been up for the past two months constantly, Nick. You've earned the break."

He knows that Greg needs him, knows it from the tight hold he had on him during the night and from the eyes that never leave him out of his sight. And he doesn't want to leave, not today, wants to be comforted, wants to rest. It's the feeling of duty that makes him argue. Maybe he can find something that's useful, maybe he'll find more food or wood or medicine. Maybe.

In the end, he stays, holding Greg and being held by him, watching Warrick play with Lindsey and trying to come to terms with what happened. Greg lies in his arms, clinging to him is more like it, and Nick can't begrudge him of that; Greg tries to comfort him, too, but he's far too damaged by now to be of any help. Still, Nick can draw comfort from the man in his arms, just because he has Greg, because they are still together, they are here, they have survived so far. That's enough for Nick. And Greg's attempts at soothing help Nick more that he realizes at first. He talks softly to him, telling him of a future that's a lot brighter than the present and brighter than anything either has seen in months. The ghost of a smile wisps across Greg's face. That's all he can do.

It's Nick's goal that he manages to bring a real smile back on Greg's face before his death.

A smile that reaches Greg's eyes and does not die on the way up there.

It's around the time that the first Troopers start roaming the streets and they barricade their windows with the cardboard panes that Greg starts speaking.

Or at least what counts as speaking in Greg's world.

Grissom is teaching them Sign Language in the evenings when they have nothing better to do and they use that method of communication mostly by now, but from time to time Greg goes back to writing on Nick's palm the words he is unable to say with his hands because the writing is how they started out, before they realized that Greg was mute and Grissom took it up to show them the other form of communication.

"Are you okay?"

Deep chocolate eyes searching his, the worry an fear over Nick's well- being clearly mirrored. Nick only nods.

"Don't believe you."

"But I am."

"Don't bullshit me."

If there's one look that makes Nick cave in, it's Greg's determined look. Forget Catherine's, it's Greg that holds all of Nick in the palm of his hand when he throws him that look.

Well, that and all the other looks in his repertoire that Greg can pull if he wants something from Nick.

"How do you think I am?"

"You tell me. I am asking you."

"I've been better."

"It hurts."

"Where?"

In what he would usually conceive as a sappy gesture, Nick lays his palm over his heart. Greg stares at his hand, slowly covering with his own slightly smaller one. Then he carefully entwines their fingers, a look of pure concentration on his face. With his free hand, Greg slowly unbuttons Nick's shirt, his gaze locked onto Nick's, never wavering. He pushes the shirt off his shoulders, fingers still entwined, eyes still focused solely on Nick. In a movement close to sensual, he leans down, moving their hands off Nick's chest, then starts to slowly cover it with quick light kisses. In a time that seems like a dream now, Nick would have been turned on, but all he manages now to do is capture the love that Greg tries to show. It's moments later that he realizes that Greg is kissing letters onto his chest, where his heart is, speaking to him in the most intimate of ways that Nick can think of right now.

_Love._

_Hope._

_Future._

_Light._

_Happiness._

_Contentment._

_Food._

_Warmth._

_Safety._

_Home._

_Joy._

_Control._

_Work._

_Comfort._

_Laughter._

_Eternity._

_Clothes._

_Cleanliness._

_Water._

_Electricity._

_Forever._

The first words that Grissom taught them in Sign Language and that Greg taught Nick in Suomi back when he was still talking. Since then those twenty- one words have become the beacon of their group, the words they cling to, that make them not give up hope.

When Greg is done, Nick pulls him up and into a long kiss that is hot and wet in all the right places. Nick calls it his own drug of hope, as it always lightens up the despair that he feels.

"Hey, you two love birds, stop it before it gets nasty."

Greg leans his forehead against Nick's, his breathing slightly exhilarated.

"Oh shut it, man. It's not like anything's gonna happen."

"Then let's keep it that way."

One day Brass and Sofia don't come back, and a week later Grissom doesn't either. The razzias get more violent and brutal, and the days that they get something to bring back from shrink. Nick, Warrick and Catherine leave at dawn and come back at night fall. Whatever they manage to score, they drag at least enough back to Greg and Lindsey. They don't go separate anymore, but as a group. It's too dangerous to be out alone now.

The end is coming.

They all feel it, they all know it. But they haven't left yet. A lot of families and groups haven't, simply because they lack the strength to get away as fast as they need to. As the weeks pass, a plan is formed by them, when they huddle around the fire, trying to be as warm as possible. They don't want to die, they want to live, but in order to do so, they can't remain in Vegas. Or in Nevada. Or anywhere else in the USA for that matter. Mexico is out of question, too.

"But how are we going to get there?"

"I talked to someone who knows someone else. A coyote."

"A coyote?"

"He could get us over the border."

"How much?"

"Everything we got except for what we can carry on our bags and ourselves. And we can't bring too much because otherwise we'll look suspicious and it's over."

"So we have to part with all that we have basically?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

"Kinda funny, don't you think?" The US was the promised land once, the land of milk and honey. Now people try to get away from it."

"So, are we gonna do it?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

Warrick goes and talks to the coyote who tells him that the next trek will be in two days. They are taking a group from New York with them who came all the way because apparently it's rumoured that in the state of Nevada things are calmer and more relaxed.

More relaxed?

When Warrick tells them about it that night, they shudder collectively to think what's it like in the other states then.

"New York's one of the worse. That's why they left."

"Do you know anything about them?"

"Law enforcement. Federal agents. Guy said that they arrived last night and need some time to recuperate and gather their strength."

"FBI?"

"Yeah."

"All of them?"

"Yeah."

"Two days?"

"Yeah."

Two days.

They can manage for two days.

Thunder and lightning batter the rocks  
The winds howl and great storms break on the forest  
Scatter the herds like rain  
Fire leaps from dark to dark  
Fear and Anger leap to meet it  
We will not go down  
We will not be beaten down like rain

(_Thunderstorm- Riverdance_)


End file.
